I sat upon a dark green carpet of grass with pen and pad in hand.
It was there among the trees at the edge of the treeline,
I was surveying the valley, such a serene and peaceful stretch of land.
I was there alone and the only thoughts there were mine.
As I sat among the trees,
I began to reflect on these.
I could look left and right, there were plenty trees to see.
As I looked at them individually I saw quite a variety.
I saw the Maples, Elms, Oaks and a Cottonwood grove very near.
I counted a few Cedar trees that in the winter have branches that are never bare.
Trees I can regard like good silent friends that don’t mind listening to me.
I can say what I want as loud as I can and none of the trees there will care.
As I sit among the trees as I often do, I can talk of how I would like things to be.
I can dream my wildest dreams, the trees don’t mind.
I can rant and rave sometimes, venting stress but peace in time to find.
I don’t think the trees listen or really pay attention,
but neither do they talk back and give me any dissention.
It’s for these reasons and many more,
it’s to these woods with all these wonderful trees,
I come here as often as I can my thoughts and ideas to explore.
To reach a state of serenity, to clear my mind and think what I please.
Among the trees in that welcomed solitude,
I can address my problems and adjust my attitude.
When you’re among such beauty it’s hard to have an ugly thought.
Some calming meditation to sooth my soul as I settle into my green grassy spot.
If I’m not there physically, I often go there in my mind and I can see,
Me among the trees with pen and pad in hand writing more poetry.

After a successful career as a Senior Engineering Designer working with international mining companies, William David is retired now and living with his wife Diane of 36 years in Tucson, Az. He likes spending time now devoted to his passion: writing and reading poetry. William writes for his pleasure and for the pleasure of those who might read his poems.

We’re asleep on the couch.
I’m no bigger than a football
and his arm is around me
the only time I know.
My blond wisps are poking
through black here and there,
through the same strands that found
the gentle hands of another son
and a woman who is not my mother.

Zach Thomas is a recent graduate of Virginia Tech’s MA in English program. His latest work appears in Archarios and Rock Music Studies.

Soon after sunrise,
After some coffee, and I’ve opened up my eyes.
I stroll out to the patio,
I’m looking for that spot,
The one that’s warm with a golden glow.
Soothing and pleasant, and not too hot.
While a gentle morning breeze begins to blow,
I know I’ve found the spot that’s just right,
Where I will contemplate what I shall do today.
Here in my sunny spot in this early morning sunlight,
Sometimes I think it’s the best part of my day.

After a successful career as a Senior Designer working with international mining companies, William David is retired now and living in Tucson, Az. He likes spending time now devoted to his passion: writing poetry. William writes for his pleasure and for the pleasure of those who might read his poems.

These woods,
          my church,
these words,
          my sanctuary.

Standing in the uncertain light,
My ears ring with this noisy silence,
          racket of birds, wind, water.
I breathe fully,
          feelings surging,
          heart full.
My body is brimming with spring,
I feel transparent and green.

Again, this feeling in my chest,
upwelling love,
rushing joy,
I throw my eyes at the sky.

And wheeling through blue, tightly,
a murmuration,
controlled,
synchronous.

I kneel in the muck,
plant life crushed beneath me,
unsettled restlessness dissipating,
uncontainable, at peace.

Tanya Fenkell is a Toronto-based writer and artist working primarily in watercolour. Currently, she spends most of her time raising three sons. Her paintings are held in several private collections in Canada and the United States.

On the Road in the West

toast to the new
year and my way,
to roam at last

across South Dakota…

arteries streaming over hills
through the plains, red
highways of the rangelands

posted at the rest
stop for pissing, a
sign says no hunting

in Bighorn National Forest…

towering over dense hills
of forest, snow-capped
peaks shine like diamonds

wildlife of Wyoming…

a posted warning speaks
the truth, herd of
slow cows stopping traffic

grazing along the shoulder
of the road, family
of cows, hello darling

picking at the grass
among the pebbles, mama
and baby sheep roadside

an impromptu stop to
refuel, cow milks her
young on the road

a crossroads for the
wildlife, cows line up
to cross the highway

with Yellowstone on the horizon…

from dry plains rolling
to lush hills distant,
mountains go into clouds

vast open space for
miles, a skinny-legged
fawn on the prairie

Gonzalo Adolfo is a Bolivian-American writer and author of the novel, No Rush for Gold, and the poetry volume, Gone to War. His international publication credits include The Opiate, Black Bamboo Haiku Anthology, and Vita Brevis. He lives in Berkeley, California. Follow his work at: bumhew.com

You press the soft petals between my lips
and whisper of things I have known
only in the letters of others
before me; there isn’t much you need
to say; we found our own tongue
shaped like secret, intimate devotion.

D. Parker spends most of her days surrounded by books both at work and at home. In her free time she reads and occasionally lets words form on paper.

I once took comfort
In the refuge of you
And your turbulent sea

I once offered up
The wholeness of me

That way your waters
Chiseled at
The sharp corners
Of my pain

That way your waters
Swallowed my story,
Shattered me, and
Spit me back out —

Resurrected on your shore
Like an unexpected gift
Round and smooth
I stay, desperate for you–

Put in a pretty bowl
On top of your pretty shelf
Admire me from afar

Make me something else
Make me someone else.

Brandi Kary is a mother, educator, and poet who lives in Pacific Grove, California. She’s taught English and Creative Writing at Monterey Peninsula College for many years. Aside from loving words, Brandi loves to lift heavy things. She’s a competitive powerlifter and currently holds world records and national records for bench pressing and deadlifting.

Beyond the valley, the last light reddens the sky.
A lone deer grazes near the road into town.
I have forgotten the faces at the inn that night,
Except yours: your smile holds my gaze,
Making an instant of time, inexhaustible.
My future, still unfolding in that fleeting moment.

Julius Lobo is a teacher and writer currently living in the Baltimore area. Swept up by a love of books, he earned a Ph.D. in English Literature and has held a variety of teaching positions. His work has appeared in Book Riot and the Journal of Modern Literature. You may often find him catching up on email and sipping a strong cup of Assam black tea.

The great quandary has
Been my equal wish to be
Seen & disappear

Alyssa Sego studied English Literature at Southern New Hampshire University. She enjoys reading and writing poetry, and making traveling dream boards. She resides in Louisville, KY with her husband and two dogs.

i wake up every day with eyes slightly
darker underneath, regardless of my sleep quality.
each restless night or malicious dream slightly
making me look older than i truly am

i attend to a job i despise to make money, slightly
making me wealthier. every day spent there
takes its toll on me, turning me slightly
colder and more hollow each day’s end

i consume caffeine on an empty stomach to feel slightly
more awake, but my body has grown tolerant.
each cup of energy makes me slightly
less jittery as i become more resistant

returning home I park my car, knowing it will get slightly
scratched by people who are poor parallel parkers.
i will pull in and out and in and out, slightly
brushing theirs too, for i am bad at it as well

being home, I get high to feel slightly
happier and at peace with myself.
my high seemingly weaker and slightly
shorter each time; i smoke too much

everything in my life is moving slightly
along, a slow crawl into the future.
at what point do all the slightly
moving actions catch up to a rapid pace?

Jack Deno is an Illinois native currently exploring his potential as a writer. He hopes to learn more about himself through his writing. He gazes at the stars every opportunity he gets.